


one and only one

by zach_stone



Series: hermann is dad [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: (i love that that's a recommended tag), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bonding, Dancing (kind of), Found Family, Gen, Hermann Gottlieb: Gay Mentor Extraordinaire, Mako Mori Lives, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 01:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zach_stone/pseuds/zach_stone
Summary: One and only one: In mathematics, a statement of the uniqueness of an object; the object exists, and furthermore, no other such object exists.After avoiding the apocalypse for a second time, the Shatterdome hosts a dance for its teenage cadets. Hermann agrees to chaperone. He's never felt that he is particularly good with the youth — but maybe there's an exception.(aka Hermann is everyone's gay mentor because I say so.)





	one and only one

**Author's Note:**

> howdy everyone! this fic is perhaps my most self indulgent yet, and idk if this concept will appeal to anyone else, but i had fun writing it and featuring hermann's relationships to my two favorite girls, so i hope you enjoy! (NOTE - when i say nobody dies au, i mean nobody from Uprising. everyone who died in the first movie is still dead in this fic, sorry)
> 
> also, HUGE thanks to Mx_Axolotl for giving me this idea for the title; giving sentimental meaning to math jargon? couldn't have come up with something better myself.

Hermann was never one for dances as a teenager, hadn’t attended any and didn’t feel any regret for it. He’d thought they were awkward and simply provided another venue at which his peers could pick on him. His father had thought they were a waste of time, in any case.

Now, standing by a buffet table at one end of the mess hall in the Shatterdome, watching just over a dozen or so teenage cadets shuffle around to the (truly abysmal) music blasting from tinny speakers, Hermann still can’t say he sees the appeal. But in the wake of the world not ending (again), Jake Pentecost insisted. “They’re just kids,” he said emphatically when he pitched the idea. “They deserve to act like kids and not soldiers, just for a night. They’ve earned it, yeah?”

So the mess hall was cleared out to make room for a rented dancefloor, and an oversized punch bowl and some tacky colored lights and an honest-to-goodness _disco ball_ were carted into the Shatterdome, and Hermann, god help him, volunteered to chaperone. Which accounts for his current lurking by the buffet table.

He leans against the wall, both hands folded over the top of his cane, and drums his fingers idly to the beat of the song. Something synthy and repetitive; Jake is manning the soundbooth. Hermann’s eyes glaze over and he isn’t really watching the dancefloor anymore. This must be how Amara is able to sneak up on him without him realizing, and he nearly jumps out of his skin when she says brightly, “Hey, Dr. G!”

“Goodness,” he mutters, straightening and glancing over at her. “Cadet Namani. Are you, ah, enjoying the dance?”

Amara shrugs, her nose scrunching up. “It’s okay, I guess.” Her dance attire consists of a pair of corduroy pants and a dress shirt that’s just slightly too big for her. It’s very endearing. She grabs a plastic cup and ladles some punch into it, sipping it thoughtfully. “Are you?”

Hermann frowns. “Am I what?”

“Enjoying the dance,” she says, like he’s an idiot. The girl doesn’t seem to speak to any of her superiors with the respect they deserve, and while it irks Hermann somewhat, it also reminds him of — well. It makes him smile despite himself, a bit fond. He’s gone soft in his old age, he thinks. Not that he’s _that_ old.

“It’s certainly…” he pauses, trying to come up with something positive to say. “Loud,” he finishes lamely.

Amara beams at him. “Right? Jake picks such weird music. And it’s all fast! How do you dance to fast songs?”

Hermann chuckles. He decides he rather likes Amara. “Is there someone you’re wanting to slow dance with?” he asks. Her face goes pink immediately, and he hopes he hasn’t said the wrong thing, he has no idea how to talk to teenagers —

“Can I ask you something?” Amara blurts out. Hermann’s a bit thrown by the non sequitur, but he nods. “You — you know a lot about the drift, right? How it works?”

“Theoretically, yes,” he says slowly. “I helped program the Mark 1 jaegers, so I was involved in perfecting the drift technology. I’ve only done it myself the once, and that was not, er, _typical_ circumstances.”

“But you were still drift compatible,” Amara says eagerly. “I mean, not with the kaiju, obviously, but — right?”

Hermann swallows, glancing away for a moment. He thinks of those hours after their unorthodox drift, he and Newt swimming in each other’s thoughts, every touch electric, magnified, two-fold. Then his thoughts shift, unbidden, to Newt in a cell somewhere in the Shatterdome at this very moment, and — no. This is why he volunteered to chaperone this ridiculous thing, to keep his mind off _that_.

He looks back at Amara, who is still eyeing him hopefully. He inclines his head. “Yes, we were drift compatible. I do know what that’s like.”

“Cool,” Amara says. Her expression is one of blatant admiration, and he’s both embarrassed and pleased. “So, do you know — I mean, when you drift with someone, you know everything that’s going on in their heads, right? There’s not supposed to be any more questions.” She gazes at him imploringly, like she’s hoping he’ll read between the lines and somehow understand what she can’t seem to ask outright.

Luckily for her, Hermann is fairly certain he knows what this is about. “While the drift can certainly enhance relationships, Miss Namani, it cannot and should not replace speaking one’s feelings aloud. If you want my advice, I suggest you trust your instincts and ask that girl to dance with you.” He nods in the direction of Amara’s copilot, Viktoriya, who is standing awkwardly by the opposite wall and fidgeting with the sleeve of her dress shirt.

Amara’s blush deepens, but she doesn’t deny it. Instead, she says in a quiet, uncertain voice, “You don’t think it’s weird, do you?”

Hermann frowns. “Of course not. You should like whomever you like, regardless of their gender; please understand that I of all people am not —”

“Oh, I don’t mean _that_ ,” Amara says, rolling her eyes, and Hermann remembers that times have thankfully changed since he was a teenager. “I mean because we used to fight all the time. And like, sometimes we still do? But it’s different now, it’s — it’s not like we _hate_ each other or anything.”

“I don’t think that’s weird at all,” Hermann says, smiling faintly again. “In fact, I understand completely.” He nods decisively. “I daresay you should go for it, dear girl. All that can come from inaction is regret, and you don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been.”

“Is that what happened with you and Dr. Geiszler?” Amara asks. Hermann stiffens. “Sorry, I — I know he was your drift partner. It must be really hard seeing him all locked up and uh, possessed and everything.”

Hermann clears his throat. “Yes,” he says, and then he is quiet for a moment. To his surprise and relief, Amara doesn’t say anything either. The song playing fades out and another starts, and finally Hermann says, “It is a difficult thing to open yourself up to someone the way you do in the drift. It leaves you vulnerable to be hurt in ways you didn’t know you could be hurt.” His fingers tap idly on the head of his cane. “That doesn’t mean it’s not worth it, though. Frightening as it may be, Miss Namani, love is always worth the risk.”

Amara gives him a funny sort of half-smile. “Wow. That was so corny,” she says, and laughs when he looks offended. “You’re probably right, though. Thanks, Dr. G. You’re really cool. And you can call me Amara, you know.”

Hermann has the sudden urge to ruffle her hair, but he’s sure that would only embarrass her. He settles for a companionable pat on the shoulder. “Go get your girl, Amara.”

She grins at him once more before ducking out from under his hand and striding across the dancefloor to approach Viktoriya. He watches with amusement as they talk, Vik’s eyes going wide and her cheeks flushing. Several of the other cadets within earshot appear delighted as the scene unfolds.

“I don’t remember us having a dance when _we_ saved the world.” Hermann turns to see Mako sidling up to stand beside him. She looks well, all things considered — a fumbling catch by giant robotic hands left the passengers of the helicopter a bit worse for wear, but Mako Mori is made of sterner stuff than most. It’d take more than that to stop her from attending the festivities.

“I daresay I recall a lot more alcohol was involved in our celebration,” Hermann agrees wryly. “It’s good to see you up and about, Secretary General.”

Mako laughs. “There’s no need for the formalities when it’s just us, Doctor. We’re family.”

Hermann blushes, but counters, “And yet you’re still calling me by my title.”

“Would you mind if I call you Hermann?”

He pauses for a moment, considering. “I suppose that’s alright, so long as you don’t do it within earshot of the cadets,” he says finally.

Mako grins at him, conspiratorial. “Speaking of, what was Amara talking to you about?”

“Oh, just coming to me with her romantic troubles, seeking advice.” He gives her a significant look. “Sound like another young woman you know?”

“You always were good with the youth,” Mako teases.

Hermann snorts in disbelief. “Hardly. Quite the opposite, I’d say. You were the exception, Mako, not the rule. You were special.”

Mako watches Amara, who is now leading a reluctant Vik onto the dancefloor, both of them moving in that awkward way teenagers do when they’re attempting to find rhythm. “She’s special too, I think.”

Hermann hums. “Yes, I think so, as well.”

The song switches to something slower, an old song that Hermann recognizes. He looks up at the soundbooth and sees Jake smirking in Amara’s direction. “This one’s for you, smallie!” he calls down to her. She flips him off, but hooks her arms around Vik’s shoulders anyway. Other pairs of cadets are stepping onto the floor, swaying together to the beat. _Put your head on my shoulder, hold me in your arms, baby…_

Hermann and Mako watch the dancing in companionable silence for a moment. Then Mako says softly, “You were the first person I came out to. Do you remember that?”

Hermann smiles. “I do. I remember you asked me to come with you to tell the Marshal.” He clears his throat, feeling suddenly a bit emotional. “It — it meant quite a lot to me that you trusted me enough to tell me first. I don’t know if I ever said so.”

She reaches over and takes his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. It is a privilege, Hermann thinks, to see her standing tall and strong and sure of herself. He’s grateful for many reasons that he was assigned to the Tokyo Shatterdome all those years ago, and Mako Mori accounts for most of them.

“While we’re on the subject,” he says, “any lady friends of yours I should know about?”

She rolls her eyes fondly. “The same one there’s been for the past five years, as you well know,” she says.

“Just checking,” Hermann says. Mako swats his shoulder.

Jake puts on another older song, and Hermann is certain he recognizes it, though it isn’t until the lyrics start that he knows its name. Unbidden, he recalls Newton playing this same record over and over one week in the lab, singing along loud and off-key. And later, holding Hermann close, murmuring the words with warm breath into the shell of his ear: _You, soft and only, you, lost and lonely, you, just like heaven._

Hermann closes his eyes and takes a steeling breath. When he opens them again, Mako is eyeing him like she knows exactly what’s going through his mind. She likely does; she’s always been so perceptive. “Apologies,” he tells her, lips twitching up in a poor imitation of a smile. “I lost myself for a moment.”

“We’re going to save him, Hermann,” Mako tells him. The way she says it, so earnest and firm, is almost startling. “I promise.”

He nods, though his hand shakes on his cane and he clenches his fingers to steady it. Far too eager to change the subject, he gestures to the dancefloor, where all of the cadets seem to have relaxed enough to be actually having fun. Amara and Vik are laughing, twirling each other to the music. “You know, this is going much better than I anticipated. It’s rather nice.”

“It is,” Mako says. This mess hall full of ragtag teenagers and orphans of war, Hermann realizes, is his family. And thanks to him in some part, they’re able to have this one night free of the terrors that lurk beneath the ocean, sealed away for now but perhaps never truly gone. There is still much work to be done, but for the moment, Hermann allows himself just a little bit of hope.

**Author's Note:**

> have i mentioned i love hermann? in case u haven't figured that out, i never shut up about it on my twitter @hermanngottiieb if u wanna give it a follow! as always, comments deeply appreciated. thanks for reading! <3


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